Page 94 of Take Me Away

Just Isla.

Just the woman I can’t stop thinking about, who might still leave, who might be the one thing I want more than I should.

Christ.

I open the door.

And there she is. Isla fucking Quinn.

Not glammed up. No makeup team, no borrowed designer gown. Just jeans and a sweater the colour of deep sea, like it’s trying to drag me under. Hair down and a bit windswept. She looks like the past and the future collided and somehow made something better.

And I forget how to breathe.

‘Hi,’ she says when I keep staring like a muppet.

‘You look…’ I clear my throat, swallow the knot. ‘You look good.’

Real smooth, Harding.

Her smile tugs a little wider. ‘Thanks. You too. Green suits you.’

I glance down; I’ve forgotten what shirt I threw on. The Henley. Right. Fuck me.

Still blocking the damn door like I’ve got no idea how hinges work.

‘Are we still…?’ she prompts, pointing to the lane behind her that will take us to The Ship Inn.

‘Yeah. Yeah – sorry. You wanna come in first or…?’

‘Kit Harding, are you embarrassed to be going out with me?’ The glint in her eyes makes my stomach squeeze.

‘Never.’ I grab my jacket, trying not to trip over my own feet.

We walk towards the harbour. The silence is thick. Not the nice kind, either – the weird, awkward kind that’s way too aware of what we’ve already done together.

We walk a bit further. Our hands brush once, then again. The third time, I just grab hers. She lets me. No hesitation. It’s a simple thing, that warmth between us – but Christ, it wrecks me.

The Ship’s in sight now, lights spilling out warm across the pavement. But my feet slow up. ‘We could skip it,’ I offer. ‘Go to Truro.’

She stops, turns towards me. ‘No. We’re doing this.’

Then she kisses me. No fireworks or movie music – just her mouth, soft and certain. Real.

She pulls back, breath warm on my cheek. ‘Now, unless you want the village to talk about this over their coffee first thing tomorrow, we’d better get inside.’

‘Jesus,’ I mutter. Breathless and done for. ‘All right, in we go.’

Inside, it’s packed – Friday-night levels of loud. But the second we step through the door, the place goes deathly quiet.

Every head turns. Even the bloody dartboard seems to stop spinning. It’s not Isla walking in they are staring at. Not me either. Every gaze is on our joined hands.

‘Well, that’s subtle,’ Isla giggles, ducking her head against my shoulder for a beat. I swear the whole place fucking sighs in one collective breath.

‘Told you.’ I steer her towards the bar. Ayo, wearing another eye-wateringly bright knitted jumper, clocks us and grins like the cat that got the cream.

‘If it isn’t Sea Salt Bay’s hottest couple,’ he crows. ‘What’ll it be, lovebirds?’

I glare. ‘Pint. Same as always.’